


Take What’s Given

by orphean



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Jason Todd, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Morality, Face-Fucking, Justice Lords Universe, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Pseudo-Incest, Rough Sex, Spitroasting, Threesome, Top Bruce Wayne, Top Clark Kent, Under-negotiated Kink, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28434657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: Lord Batman was fucking someone new. Lord Superman could smell it on him: someone else’s stench lingering in the seams of his suit, the sweet-salt-smoke perfume that clung to his lips. Batman didn’t tell him about it and Superman didn’t ask. Superman tasted someone else’s spit on the inside of his thighs and when Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, he wondered which one of them he was seeing.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 16
Kudos: 98





	Take What’s Given

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xanthos_Samurai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xanthos_Samurai/gifts).



> Xan said “I wish there was more Clark/Jason”, so I took that and then I made it worse. Thank you for reading the drafts of this and for all your cheerleading – this one’s for you.
> 
> **Please** mind the tags and let me know if I am missing any! As usual I am playing hard and loose with canon, but I was so excited to play in the Justice Lords sandbox.
> 
> enjoy!

Lord Batman was fucking someone new. Lord Superman could smell it on him: someone else’s stench lingering in the seams of his suit, the sweet-salt-smoke perfume that clung to his lips. Batman didn’t tell him about it and Superman didn’t ask. Superman tasted someone else’s spit on the inside of his thighs and when Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, he wondered which one of them he was seeing.

It wasn’t a question of monogamy. They’d both had dalliances in the past, and Superman had never told Bruce that he couldn’t. It had always been sex, a need to fulfill. Superman knew there were things that Bruce wanted that he wouldn’t give him. He didn’t mind that he looked for that elsewhere.

No, Superman wouldn’t have minded at all, if only it had been anyone else. If it hadn’t been Jason Todd.

He knew that Bruce was not _in_ love with Jason, but he knew with an equally blazing certainty that the love Bruce felt for Jason was deep-rooted and real and dangerous. He had loved Jason almost as long as he had loved Superman. He had loved him as a son, and he had lost him. He was back from the dead, and Superman didn’t know how Bruce loved him now. (He had heard, of course, the grunts and moans and the sound of skin on skin, Batman’s murmured orders and Jason’s filthy words.)

It was a question of _understanding_. No one understood Batman like Superman did, inside and out. No one else _should_ understand Batman like Superman did. But Jason might – if not now, then one day. He needed to be put into place. They needed to be put into place.

Bruce couldn’t forget where he belonged.

He was clutching the sheets through his cape, cowl pushed out of the way and hair matted with sweat. Superman kept his hands on his thighs, spreading his legs and keeping him in place.

‘I know about Jason.’ Superman paired the sentence with a shallow stroke and for a moment, pleasure and surprise fought on Bruce’s face. ‘Does it get you off, fucking your son?’

‘He was never my son.’

(Bruce could lie to everyone, but he couldn’t lie to Superman. Superman saw him; Superman saw through him. He could see his arousal travel through his brain, the electricity in his mind that proved his excitement.)

Deep, and then not, pulling out to be barely inside him. Bruce groaned in protest and tried to push himself down. His knuckles were white and Superman could hear the sheet rip under his fingers. Superman held him in place, palms spread over the insides of his thighs.

‘ _Please_ ,’ Bruce whined, head thrown back, beautiful in his frustration. Superman was still, waiting. (Bruce was greedy, and he was greedy enough to beg. Bruce was smart, and he was smart enough to ask the right questions.) ‘What do you want from me? Do you want me to stop?’

‘No, I don’t.’

Bruce keened when Superman started fucking him again, deep and slow. He liked it harder than that, rough and fast, but Superman wanted him coherent enough to pay attention to the conversation. Bruce looked up at him, pupils blown and mouth flushed. He let go of his cape and put his hands above his head, wrist over wrist. Offering himself. His eyes fluttered shut when Superman wrapped his fingers around his wrists, pressing him into the sheets.

‘I want you to bring him to me.’ Superman whispered against Bruce’s jawline, where he could still taste the salt of Jason’s sweat.

‘Yes,’ Bruce agreed, gasping and shivering. Superman could smell how close he was to climax, how much closer the idea of showing off his new pet to his lord brought him. ‘Yes, I’ll bring him to you.’

Superman kissed his neck and fucked him the way he wanted, the way he always needed. Bruce was always so good to him.

* * *

Superman had seen Jason since he had come back to life, but he was cast in a different light now. In the cold light filtering through the Fortress, his jawline seemed sharper. With the knowledge of how Bruce had had him, he seemed more precious. He was strong, his muscles stretching under skin, his smirk betraying an unearned confidence. Jason didn’t even look scared.

‘I know about you and your father.’ Superman said and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Jason’s reaction.

Ah. There was the fear. Sweet and heavy, it was gone almost as soon he felt it. Bruce had trained Jason well. Bruce was watching them both from where he stood.

‘What are you going to do about it? Are you gonna kill me?’

Superman laughed.

‘No, I won’t.’

‘So what then?’ 

Jason had his hands in his pockets, his head cocked in challenge.

‘I don’t like it when your father keeps secrets from me.’ Superman didn’t feel like he should have to explain this to the boy. ‘This seemed the most appropriate remediation. I need your father’s loyalty, and he can prove it by showing me how he fucks you.’

‘How he fucks me? How’d you know I don’t fuck him? That’s how he likes it from you, ain’t it?’

Jason had not forgotten Bruce’s lessons. He barely looked surprised when he found himself dangling in the air and wasted no time in fighting back. He was scrabbling his fingers against Superman’s hand on his throat, gasping for breath. Superman discarded him, tossing him onto the bed, bruisable flesh and breakable bone.

‘No one would dare.’ Superman reached into a drawer and tossed a bottle at him. ‘Prepare yourself.’

Jason shrugged out of his jacket and pulled off his shirt. His chest was marred with marks, the autopsy scar stark against his pale skin. Superman felt his mouth dry just from looking at it. Jason undid his boots and shucked them off and shimmied out of his pants. In only socks and underwear, he paused and met Superman’s gaze. He pulled off one sock, then the other. He lifted his hips and dragged off his underwear. He grinned. He was beautiful.

‘So you wanna watch?’ Jason sprawled naked on the bed, long strong legs and half-hard cock. He ran a finger down his body, tracing over muscles and scars, down and down. ‘I’ll put on a show for you.’

There was a challenging glint in his eye, a self-satisfied sneer on his pretty mouth. He was careless in the lube he poured onto his fingers, reaching down and circling his hole, barely pushing inside, making a mess of himself before anyone even touched him. Superman watched him move slowly, so slowly, pressing a finger inside, just to the first knuckle, keeping his legs spread open, putting himself on display. Clever, precocious boy. Batman watched his son act like a whore, his mouth half-slack, his hands frozen over the clasps to his suits. 

‘Does it make you hot, knowing that Bruce takes what you won’t give him elsewhere? Does it make you mad?’ A sudden realisation lit up Jason’s face and he grinned. ‘Who are you punishing with this farce? Me? Bruce?’ Jason licked his lips and let his eyes drift half-shut, pushing fingers inside himself, two now, leisurely fucking himself. He smiled like a kid at the beach. ‘Tell me, Clark.’

‘It’s Lord Superman.’ Superman heard the unrestrained fury in his voice, and he swallowed. ‘Batman, keep your child in line.’

Batman’s suit and cape fell to the ground with a rustle. He got onto the bed, kneeling by Jason. The boy looked up at him, the white of his fringe falling in his face, the look on his face hateful. (But there was something in Jason’s eyes, Superman saw. He was yearning, longing. Superman had seen a similar look in Bruce’s frown throughout the years.) Bruce had his fist in Jason’s hair, exposing his beautifully unscarred throat, a thumb on his chin, pressing his mouth open. 

Jason sucked Bruce like he was a treat, a present that was to be savoured. Small, teasing licks over his head; long lingering strokes down his underside. Jason moved his face and, with Bruce’s cock against the dip of his chin, he worked his jaw and dripped saliva from his mouth, down his chin, over Bruce’s head. He worked the spit along his length, lips and tongue and slow, torturous movements.

All the while, Jason looked at Superman and worked himself. 

‘He’s ready.’ 

‘Is he?’ Bruce asked – not challenging, not quite. Jason whined, deep in his throat, and Superman smiled at Bruce’s hips twitching.

Three fingers, buried to the hilt, barely stretching inside.

‘He’s ready enough.’

‘Listen to your god, Bruce.’ Jason drawled, Bruce’s cock on his lower lip. ‘I know you like it when you hurt me.’

‘I–’ Bruce bit back the reply, the _I don’t_ that no one would believe. Superman could see the half-healed bruises on Jason’s hip. Jason could surely feel them.

Bruce pulled back and dragged Jason by the hair, wrapping an arm around his waist to flip him over. Jason pulled out his fingers and grabbed Bruce’s arm, slick fingers not finding purchase. If Superman hadn’t been hard already, the ease with which Bruce lifted Jason, planted his knees on the bed and knocked him down onto his elbows would have been enough. For being only human, he was so so close to _more_.

Bruce nudged Jason’s thighs with his knees and Jason spread, arching his back and presenting himself. Bruce had one hand on Jason’s hips and the other wrapped around himself, lining himself up, spreading the lubricant along his length. His eyes were fixed on his work, his tongue between his lips. Jason, eyes on Superman, was smiling until he wasn’t. 

Superman knew the second Bruce forced himself inside by how all the poise slipped from Jason’s face, how his eyes blew wide and his mouth fell open. A moment of respite when Bruce pulled out. Then, again: a slow press inside and Jason whimpered.

‘Breathe, baby, breathe.’ Bruce spoke to him the way a ringmaster would speak to a show horse, scared of the flames. Jason released a shuddering breath and, for a second, the hand Bruce had curled around Jason’s shoulder was tenderly touching him. ‘You’re doing so well. Show Superman how good you are.’

For a minute, Jason was good, breathing well, eyes rolling into the back of his head. But Bruce was growing bored, Superman could tell, and with fingers pressing into hip and shoulder, he shoved deeper.

‘Bruce. _Bruce_.’

The second time Jason said his name, it was frantic, panicked. Superman smelled the arousal mixed in with the fear, with the pain. Jason was still looking at Superman, and Superman saw the tears, tears that Jason tried to keep from falling by keeping his eyes wide.

‘You can take it.’

Jason was too far gone to protest when Bruce flattened his palm between Jason’s shoulder blades, pressing Jason’s cheek against the silk of the bed. All the while, Jason kept looking at Superman, even as he mewled at how Bruce moved inside him, forcing him open, keeping him full. The pace Bruce set was cruel and relentless, fast and deep and then slowly slowly pushing even further, all the way out and then all the way in.

‘Do you like it?’ Superman asked the slobbering boy, moaning and keening on his bed. ‘Do you like how your father takes you?’

Jason nodded – or he tried to, Bruce’s hand in hair keeping him in place, pressed into the sheets.

‘He’s very patient with you. I don’t think I’d be half as patient.’

Superman had waited long enough. He reached down and pulled himself free, his erection clinging to the inside of his suit. He ran his fingers down himself. Superman didn’t miss the way Jason’s eyes widened again, how he was no longer looking at his face. Superman didn’t miss the way he licked his lips.

‘You could take me, couldn’t you?’ Superman asked, his grip loose, moving lazily up and down. ‘Your father can and – well. Anything he can do, you can do better.’

Jason stared, hungry. Bruce fucked him harder, punishing, and Jason moaned, in pain, in pleasure. Superman let his eyes relax and saw Jason’s brain lighting up like fireworks even as he sobbed and protested. Superman smiled.

‘Lift him.’

Bruce changed his grip on Jason’s hair and pulled, holding him up for Superman, showing him off like a cat would show off a rat. There was still defiance in Jason’s eyes, despite the tears he had been unable to hold back, despite the spit in the corner of his mouth. He kept his mouth shut. He did nothing at all to hold himself up. Superman could see the strain in Bruce’s muscles.

‘Open his mouth.’

Bruce moved his knees and leaned back. Jason’s eyes flickered shut as Bruce pushed yet deeper inside him, as Bruce moved a hand from his hip to his chin, gripping his jaw and forcing him open. Superman stood and looked down at the offered boy. He shivered every time Bruce thrusted, each stroke deep and hard.

Jason tried to pull forward when Superman let his tip brush over his lips, but Bruce held him in place, beautifully, perfectly. Superman took his time, brushing over Jason’s soft skin, his sharp cheekbones, his beautiful lips. Jason flicked his tongue, reaching out, desperate to touch. He was looking up at Superman, his eyes anticipating and glazed with need. Bruce was looking at Superman, too, dark with desire.

‘You’re a needy little slut, aren’t you?’ He rewarded Jason’s whimper with pressing himself against his tongue, sliding against that wet wet heat. He shouldn’t reward bad behaviour, but who could deny such prizes when offered? ‘Come on, then. Show me what you’re worth.’

When Bruce sucked him off, it was always with a cold precision, with measured and precise movements, like the Kryptonian orgasm was another puzzle he wanted to solve. It felt good, and it was very nearly perfect. But, well, there was something about the sheer depravity with how Jason lapped over his cock. Held up and offered, he was still giving himself, pushing against Bruce’s grip on his hair and jaw to taste more, to feel him deeper. Superman obliged and leaned in, watching each inch go between those pretty lips. Again, rewarding bad behaviour. He wasn’t all the way in when he felt the soft of Jason’s throat, when Jason first gagged.

Bruce moved his hand from Jason’s jaw to the back of his neck.

‘Come on, Jason. Take what’s given.’

It was beautiful, the way Bruce held Jason up and open for him, the way his thrusts pushed Superman deeper in Jason’s throat, the way Bruce presented him with gifts like these. He was meeting Superman’s gaze, his eyes still focused despite the heavy way he breathed, the pink of lust that was colouring his face. And Superman realised what Bruce had been doing all along, that what Bruce found in Jason was nothing like what he had with Superman. Jason was a body, willing and vile, happy to be used.

Jason gagged once, then twice, then he remembered his breathing. His mouth was warm and soft and slick, and Superman shivered at how easy it was to do this, how easily Jason could take him after all. Superman fucked Jason deep and leisurely, arrested by the fine curve of his lips, by the way Jason didn’t close his eyes but glared up at him, defiant and challenging. Bruce fucked Jason deep and frantic, grunts and moans falling from his mouth. Superman watched him and saw how his facade was faltering, betraying bliss, coming close close far too close too soon. His frontal cortex was lighting up like Fourth of July.

‘Stop.’

His voice sounded loud in a silence that had been filled with the slap of skin on skin and whimpers and the soft wet sound of Jason’s mouth. 

Bruce stopped, buried inside Jason, his hands still holding Jason’s hair and neck. He was breathing hard, pupils blown and lips bitten bloody. Jason stopped, too, his tongue still now. His mouth was so inviting, too inviting. Superman tilted his hips, harder now, and Jason made a sound. Protesting, perhaps. Superman curled his fingers over Bruce’s in Jason’s hair. Bruce, unmoving, looked at him and waited to be told what to do. It was beautiful.

‘It’s my turn now.’ Superman smiled at Bruce. Bruce barely breathed.

When Superman pulled out, he stared at the saliva that still connected him to Jason, viscous and stretched between tongue and tip. Jason closed his mouth and swallowed but the spit was still there, still connecting them. Jason reached up a hand to wipe it away but Bruce caught him, twisting his arm behind his back. Two hands were in Jason’s hair, holding his head up. Superman lifted his hand.

‘Let him go.’

Jason didn’t seem to have enough awareness to catch himself when Bruce dropped him. He fell flat on his face and lifted himself onto his elbows, glancing back at Bruce before looking up. Superman didn’t miss how Jason shivered and his eyes fluttered closed when Bruce pulled out. Bruce stepped off the bed and untucked the top sheet to wipe himself off.

‘You’re going to fuck me, my _lord_?’ Jason sneered. He sounded insolent but Superman could smell how much he craved this, how hungry and needy he was.

‘You will address me with respect.’

‘Or what, you’ll shut me up? I’ve got a pretty frontal lobe that’s all ready for you to lobotomise if I piss you off too much. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Who knows,’ Jason sneered, taunting and inviting, ‘maybe you’ll keep me here. Maybe you’ll gift me to your bitch as an obedient pet.’ Jason looked over at Bruce, a mocking sneer on his face. ‘You always did like your toys.’

This was dangerously close to sedition, treason. Superman had dealt with people for less. (Jason would be beautiful like that, mindless and yielding, but he was more appealing like this, where he gave in but pretended he didn’t, acting like he wasn’t a greedy whore.)

The slap hurt, Superman knew this, and he knew that with the pressure he applied, his cheek would bloom bruises in yellow, green, and blue. But Jason just hissed and keened against the strike, like he relished the pain. He didn’t protest when Superman fisted his hair and pushed his face in Bruce’s direction.

‘Apologise to your father.’

‘Daddy, I’m _sorry_ ,’ he mewled and simpered, words dripping with derision, ‘Daddy, baby, you know I don’t mean it. Come here, let me kiss it better. I know how you like it; let me show you what I’m good for.’

Superman let him go and got onto the bed. Jason watched him warily, craning his neck to keep an eye on him. Behind him, Superman ran his fingers up Jason’s thighs, looking over this body that for all intents and purposes belonged to him. He brushed a thumb over his hole, still gaping slightly, and Jason made a _sound_ , broken and hungry. He made the same sound again when he repeated the motion. Superman could feel the muscles clench under his fingers, desperate to feel _something_.

‘On your back.’

‘What if I don’t want to?’

Jason yelped when, a second later, he found himself on his back, Superman’s hands on his hips, Superman’s knees pinning his legs.

‘That really doesn’t matter, Jason.’ Jason’s mouth was warm and Superman could taste himself. It took several seconds for Jason to return the kisses, and for a brief moment he felt Jason push at his shoulders before those fingers were gone. When he pulled back, Jason’s hands were above his head, pinned by Bruce’s perfect fingers. ‘It’s just nice that you do.’

This was the first time Superman could see fear in Jason’s eyes, and it only made him more beautiful. Superman spread Jason’s legs and pushed inside. Just the head, just a little. Jason dropped his head to the bed, eyes rolling back in his head. Superman could hear Bruce laugh a breath – amazement, amusement, arousal. He was tight, so tight. Superman could feel the stretch of muscles around him, the strain building into pain. He pulled out.

‘Move him up the bed. Head on the edge.’

Bruce manhandled Jason into position as Superman leaned back and found the bottle of lube, pouring it over his fingers and stroking himself, the slickness cold at first, warming quickly. Jason hissed when Superman lined himself up, pushing against his entrance. He craned his head and peered between his held arms, Bruce’s fingers hard around his wrists.

‘Give me his hands.’

Jason thrashed when Superman wrapped his hands around the wrists. The thrashing was insignificant, immaterial. Superman pressed Jason’s wrists into the sheets and pushed inside, less than before. Jason whined.

‘Tell me, Jason. Are you going to behave for us?’ Jason didn’t speak, nodding wildly. Superman shifted a little further, deeper – hot and tight and delicious – and continued. ‘There’s something I need you to do for me, Jason. Can you do that?’

Jason didn’t answer, just half-nodding, the expanse of his neck revealed to Superman. He wanted to lean down to taste, to kiss, to bite. Just a little bit of pressure and he’d taste blood. It would be easy, easy, and Jason would still be beautiful bathed in red. Superman repeated the question.

‘Yes yes yes please yes yes,’ Jason mewled and whined.

(Good behaviour should be rewarded. Jason’s entire body shuddered when he slipped another inch inside.)

‘Suck your father for me, Jason. I want to see him in your throat.’

Superman let his grip soften enough to let Bruce place a pillow under Jason’s shoulders, lifting him for a better angle. He couldn’t see Jason’s face now, just his long long neck and the underside of his jaw. He held Jason in place as Bruce placed the side of his thumb on his chin, holding his mouth open as he slipped in. First, his thrusts were short and shallow, growing deeper and deeper little by little. Finally, finally, Jason choked and gagged and Bruce persisted, deep enough that Superman could see the bulge in Jason’s throat, the press of Bruce deep deep deep, deeper than is safe, and just as deep as Superman wanted it.

Jason’s a tough boy. He could take it.

He felt Jason stiffen and hopelessly try to pull away when Superman began to move with intent even as his body opened up for him, inviting him in. Jason thrashed and he tried to get away, curving his back and slipping down the bed, closer to Superman, further from Bruce.

‘Jason, no.’ Superman tightened his grip.

Bruce pulled out and Jason coughed and breathed, his chest rising and falling. Bruce brushed his palm over Jason’s mouth and it came away slick. Bruce wiped it over Jason’s chest, the spit making his scars glisten. He stroked his fingers along his jaw.

‘Kitten, you can do better than that,’ Bruce said.

Jason mewled and begged, seemingly unable to form real words. Bruce lined himself up and tried again.

Bruce wasn’t wrong. This time, Jason didn’t try to pull away and he kept his mouth open for Bruce, letting Bruce push and take as he pleased. Superman felt Jason clench around him as he buried himself inside, the sensation like fire up Superman’s back.

Superman wanted to reach out and touch, wrap a hand around Jason’s throat and feel Bruce beneath the skin and muscle and sinew, but he didn’t want to let up around Jason’s wrists, didn’t want Jason to try to touch himself. He was hard enough that it looked painful to stay untouched, leaking precum and twitching against his stomach with each stroke.

Jason took what they offered, fast and hard from Bruce, deep and firm from Superman. If Superman was careful, he could fuck him so that Jason’s body shifted with each thrust, letting him take Bruce deeper before he pulled out again. They settled into a rhythm, punishing and perfect, and Superman watched the synaptic lightshow of Bruce’s pleasure. When he was close, close, almost there, Superman spoke.

‘Pull out. His face.’

Bruce obeyed and it took seconds before he came, cum shooting and dribbling over Jason’s face. Superman yanked him by the hips to pull him back so he could see him. Jason was glazed over, lips swollen, eyes not quite focusing. He was painted with white streaks on his mouth and face and his hair. Bruce had done well.

‘Get on the bed,’ Superman ordered.

Superman watched Bruce get onto the bed, leaning against the pillows and the bedframe. When he was seated, legs sprawled and watching them, Superman pulled out and flipped Jason again. Jason wasn’t fighting at all now, numbly whimpering as he pushed inside again, lifting Jason by the hair, fucking into him as he pulled his head back as far as it would go. (Just a little bit more pressure, and Jason’s neck would snap like a twig. Superman thrust harder.)

Jason let himself be dragged like a ragdoll up the bed, Superman inside him, his exhausted hands not finding purchase.

‘Jason, keep your father warm.’

Bruce helped to lower Jason’s head into his lap, resting his cheek on the inside of his thigh. Jason keened, high and begging, when Bruce pried his mouth open again and pushed himself between his lips. Jason blinked away tears and Bruce held a hand on the back of his head, bringing his half-hard length into Jason’s mouth. Bruce tipped his head back and closed his eyes, smiling at nothing. His fingers were stroking Jason’s hair, the movement tender.

‘You’re doing so good, Jason.’ Bruce said when Superman increased his pace, relentless and furious. ‘Thank you for this. You’re so good, so good at this.’

Jason was lapping his tongue, uncoordinated and too-fast-too-slow, against Bruce’s head and Bruce sighed and shivered. Jason felt good, so good, warm and just wet enough, slick with lube and precum. Superman could draw it out, but he didn’t want to. He’d have time for that later.

Superman considered pulling out and painting him like Bruce had, making him smell of him for days. But – no. He thrust and thrust and chased that blinding light. He came in a lightning storm in his mind, and he imagined he could see his own brain, see how it lit up in pleasure and satisfaction. Jason clenched around him, like he wanted more, like he wasn’t satisfied with being filled up once.

While he came down, he didn’t move, thumbs digging into Jason’s hips, still deep inside him.

‘You did very well, Jason.’ Superman said, and he could hear his voice thick with sex. He licked his lips and glanced over at Bruce before continuing. ‘You came all this way. It’d be a shame to send you home too soon, wouldn’t it?’

Jason squirmed. Bruce held his head in place.

‘So here’s what I suggest,’ Superman said, his touch over the bruised hips now feather-soft. ‘For now, you’ll stay here. Keep your father’s cock warm and I’ll plug you up so you don’t make a mess of my bed. Your father and I have some business to discuss. But once that’s done… he’ll fuck you again. Then me. We’ll fill you up the way you want, the way no one’s ever managed.’ (Jason whimpered. Superman had known he was right.) ‘And if you’re good, if you’re very, _very_ good, we’ll let you come.’

Bruce was looking at Superman, his eyes amazed.

‘Does that sound good, Jason?’

Superman thrust into him once more into that intoxicating heat before he left and returned with the plug that fit so perfectly inside him. Jason whined at the sudden coldness of the metal. Superman reached up and stroked Jason’s cheek, his hair. He grazed his fingers over the back of Bruce’s hand and Bruce shifted slightly, like he considered turning his hand over and wrap their fingers together.

‘Jason, does that sound good?’ Superman asked again.

Jason said nothing at all. But then again, he didn’t need to.


End file.
